An Ill Labourer Quarrells With His Tooles.

There Is No Man, Though Never So Little, But Sometimes He Can Hurt.

The Fineness Which A Hymn Or Psalm Affords If When The Soul Unto The Lines Accords.

The House Is A Fine House, When Good Folks Are Within.

Critics Are Like Brushers Of Noblemen's Clothes.

No Church-yard Is So Handsom, That A Man Would Desire Straight To Bee Buried There. [no Churchyard Is So Handsome That A Man Would Desire Straight To Be Buried There.]